((Trigger warning: Drug use))
You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You and the stranger both like Pocket!lock.
Stranger: Life was hard for a borrower, John had decided. But he figured it was easier for those who didn’t borrow from 221 B. The small man scaled the kitchen wall with a stray phone charger, panting by the time he got to the top of the counter. John pushed his way through a few of the case files that the human he shared with had left around and finally found the sugar bowl. “Oh finally!”, he called out but panicked when he heard the door open. What was the Human doing home this early?!
You: Sherlock walked into the flat in exasperation. Another case, another day, another evening of ridicule. Nevermind that he solved the case for them, Lestrade’s team still mocked him. He would never admit that it bothered him, however, for it was just one more insult flung in his direction. He was the target of them regularly. What was another? He moved to the bookcase to the left of the fireplace, removing a book from its shelves and moving to the kitchen table. Opening it, he revealed the hollow pages, and the means by which he would dull his mind. He moved towards the counter to get the sanitizer to clean his arm when he stopped in his tracks, an unexpected sight catching his eye.
((It can be patches, it doesn’t have to be drugs if you don’t want it to be. I’m sorry, but Sherlock sans John is a sad man in my head. Heh.))
Stranger: (( I love it. And drugs is fine with me haha)) John looked around in panic as he saw the tall man catch him in his gaze. The borrower looked around and ended up climbing into the sugar pot, hoping the man would just take it as a drug enduced hallucination. He sat in the sugar and held his head. “Oh no, no, no!”, he chanted in worry. He would have to find a new home now! Where the hell was he supposed to go!? They only place he’d ever lived was this flat! He peaked out of the glassware with a furrowed brow, begging silently for the human to leave.
You: The sugar had been moved. He had not left the lid like that when he had last made coffee, and Mrs. Hudson had long since given up on getting supplies from his kitchen. Stepping toward the container, he lifted the lid, his face etched with confusion, heavy bags very visible on the too-jaunt face. When he caught sight of the small man, he arched a brow in the air. Well, he certainly had not hallucinated /this/ before. “…Good evening.”